


The Vacation

by Kaneko



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-20
Updated: 2002-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaneko/pseuds/Kaneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance held up his hand to stop him. "I'm not Lance," he said. "Lance is on vacation. I'm a T21 Mark 5 Robot, and I'll be doing the shows while he's away."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> _It's a 'Same Inside' rip-off! For Julad who said "If you're gonna rip something off, it might as well be the best". And for Cesca who said, "It's not quite 'I fuck, therefore I am', but it's close." This wouldn't even be a real story without you two. Thank you too, to Georgina, haven, linbot, and livia. You guys rock even more than Bob!_

The first they knew of it was when Lance called a group meeting.

It wasn't much of a group meeting. When Joey told Chris about it, Chris just growled sleepily and hung up, and JC was spending the weekend with his parents. Joey and Justin were there, though. And Lance of course.

"I'm taking a break, and going to Bermuda," Lance said. He was wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt, and he smelled coconutty and warm, like he was on vacation already.

"_What_?" Joey said. "What the _fuck_?" He had to stop then, because he'd breathed in Diet Coke. When he'd finished coughing, Justin was talking.

"You can't do that, dude," he was saying, patiently. "I know you're tired - we're all tired. But we've sold tickets for the next 28 shows, and we have to-"

"All taken care of," Lance said. He patted Justin's shoulder and made for the door. "Gotta go, my flight's in an hour."

"But-" Joey started.

"All taken care of," Lance said again, over his shoulder.

"Well," Justin said. "That was weird."

Joey shifted uncomfortably. "Someone's gonna have to tell JC."

* * *

Lance walked back into the room a few minutes later.

"Jesus," Joey said. He collapsed onto the sofa, his legs wobbling. "You totally fucking had me going for a-"

Lance held up his hand to stop him. "I'm not Lance," he said. "Lance is on vacation. I'm a T21 Mark 5 Robot, and I'll be doing the shows while he's away."

Joey laughed nervously. Lance wasn't in his Hawaiian shirt anymore. He was wearing something green and soft that matched his eyes.

"I've watched the videos and memorised the choreography," Lance continued. "And the singing parts, of course. I'm confident I'll be able to perform up to Lance's usual standard, but I'm open to constructive criticism."

"You are fucking weird, you know that," Justin said.

Lance nodded calmly. "You need proof. I understand."

"So fucking weird," Justin said. "And not in a-" He stopped.

Lance had pulled off his arm. "I hope this is adequate," he said, holding it up so they could see the metal cords hanging out of it.

"-not in a good way," Justin finished in a whisper.

* * *

Joey ended up being the one to call JC. "Lance went to Bermuda, but he left a robot to fill in for him," he said, and hung up.

"Wimp," Justin said.

* * *

JC was much cooler about it than Joey expected. He turned up three hours after Joey's phone call, looking grim, and demanding that Lancebot do a full dress rehearsal on his own. Then he watched with his arms folded over his chest, muttering "_two_ three four, _two_ three four" under his breath.

By Tearin' Up My Heart, he'd relaxed a bit, and he was even nodding occasionally. And when Lancebot did the jumping and singing part of It's Gonna Be Me without Lance's usual voice-wobble, he actually smiled.

"Yeah, this'll work," he told Joey. He jogged over to Lancebot, and touched his shoulder to stop him dancing. "That's good," he said.

Joey tried not to stare too hard at Lancebot's skin - golden and perfect under JC's hand, and gleaming with sweat just as if he were real. "Where did Lance get you?" he asked. It came out a little accusing.

Lancebot shrugged. "He knew somebody who knew somebody," he said.

* * *

Chris was the one who freaked. When Lancebot did the arm thing for him, he screamed and stumbled back. "What-" he said, and his voice was shaking. "What have you done to Lance?"

"Lance is on vacation," Lancebot explained, talking slowly, like Chris was retarded. "I'm just filling in for him."

"Yes, but." Chris looked at Joey appealingly. "Joey, he pulled off his _arm_."

Justin put him to bed with a bottle of tequila.

"He's fine," he said, when he came out of Chris's room. He shut the door quietly behind him. "He has some kind of robot phobia or something, but he'll be fine for the show on Monday."

Joey took a deep breath. He felt sick. "So now what?" he asked.

"Well." Justin shrugged helplessly. "I dunno. I guess we just do our normal thing."

Joey turned to ask JC for his opinion, but JC wasn't paying attention to them at all. He was looking at Lancebot almost hungrily.

"I bet," JC said. "You can do some cool things with your voice."

* * *

At first, Joey tried to get to know Lancebot a bit, dragging him out to a newly opened club that the real Lance would have adored.

"Do you um. Do you drink?" asked Joey hesitantly.

Lancebot smiled proudly. "I can do anything that a person can do."

"Cool," Joey said.

It didn't work out so well, though. For one thing, they didn't seem to have anything in common. Lancebot, it turned out, actually did like football and hockey and all of the other things Lance only pretended to like.

For another thing, Lancebot was apparently irresistible to women. "My friend kind of likes your friend," at least five of them told Joey. "Does he want to um-?"

Joey spent the night nodding and smiling while Lancebot said things like: "Gerard Moroni's been in fantastic form this season. I'm thinking he's going to bring the whole team with him to the playoffs. But _Smith_, now-" until Joey wanted to stab his own eyes out.

To top it all off, while Lancebot could drink, it seemed he couldn't get drunk. After seven shots, he was still dancing about a thousand times better than the real Lance, who, offstage, had like two moves - The Dork and The Doofus.

* * *

Joey told himself it wouldn't work: the fans knew too much shit about them - pets' names, favourite foods. They fucking knew which soap Joey liked, which was crazy, because Joey never remembered himself until he saw the packaging at the supermarket. It _couldn't_ work. The fans would see through it, and Lance would have to come back. It would be like the space thing and the acting thing, and all the other times Lance had overreached himself.

* * *

Lance had kissed him about a week before he'd left. He hadn't even been drunk.

"We can't," Joey had said, angry that Lance had made Joey be the one to have to say it, and feeling absurdly cheated: he was probably only going to get one kiss with Lance ever, and he hadn't been ready for it. Already, his memory of it was kind of blurred - like it was something that had happened years ago. Joey licked his lips, trying to get the taste back.

"Why not?" Lance looked tired and resigned and like he wanted to cry.

Joey shook his head. "You know why."

Lance always tried to overreach himself.

* * *

In some ways, it was like Lance had never left. On the bus, he still shouted at Joey for leaving dirty shirts on the floor, and when he reached across Joey for the coffee, the skin above his jeans was still milk-smooth and touchable.

He didn't confide in Joey anymore, though. He didn't watch videos with him, or listen to him rambling about things he'd seen on infomercials. Instead, he watched CNN, and talked about politics and world events and sports. Once, he said something in a British accent that made JC fall onto the floor, giggling.

"Tony Blair," JC said, when Joey looked at him, mystified.

"Oh," Joey said. He wrapped his arms around himself, and watched Lancebot illustrating his words with Lance's pale hands, laughing in Lance's voice. When he laughed, the curve of his throat was achingly familiar, and Joey found himself wondering what his skin would taste like - what Lance's skin would taste like.

* * *

Joey told himself he wasn't jealous, not even when Lancebot started giving JC the sly half-smile Lance usually reserved for Joey. He couldn't deny they were spending a lot of time together, though.

"Dude, you would not _believe_ some of the stuff he can do!" JC said, when Joey brought up the subject as casually as he could. "He has like a thousand more muscles than a human. And his _voice_."

"Go figure," Joey said, flatly.

* * *

He missed Lance a lot. He could admit that. He missed Lance's dry sense of humour, and the way he'd slide into the seat next to Joey's - his arm warm against Joey's side, because Lance loved to sit in the sun. Most of all, Joey missed the way Lance would send him panicked looks sometimes in interviews, the way Lance would grin at him red-faced when he fucked up the choreography. Lancebot never fucked up the choreography.

"He used to make me sandwiches when I couldn't sleep," Joey told Chris, gloomily. "Really disgusting sandwiches - fried peanut butter and banana."

"Well that explains a lot," Chris said, patting the curve of Joey's stomach.

Chris had pretty much gotten over his freak-out, though he still looked at Lancebot sometimes like he thought Lancebot might start screaming 'Exterminate, exterminate!'

"I saw Westworld," he said to Joey meaningfully.

Joey thought it might have more to do with Chris trying to fuck with Lancebot early on. "This is Lance's lucky shirt," Chris had said, holding up a sparkly, lime-green Fuman top. "He'd want you to wear it to the Grammies, man."

Lancebot had punched him.

"Ow!" Chris had grabbed his jaw, looking more angry than scared. "What the _fuck_?"

Lancebot shrugged apologetically. "Lance left some pretty specific instructions."

* * *

At least part of the problem was that Joey couldn't seem to get hold of Lance.

"We have no one by that name, sir," the concierge of the Ritz told him. So did the concierges of the Hilton and the Hyatt, and the secretary of the Holiday Inn.

"What about a Clint Black?" Joey said desperately. "Garth Brooks? Or um. That guy from Duran Duran?"

"Tell him it's Joey," he said over and over again. "Tell him I miss him. Tell him... tell him I miss him."

"Face it," Justin said to him when Joey had exhausted Bermuda's hotel list. "Lance doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah," Joey said. He crumpled the list up and threw it on the floor.

The next day he uncrumpled it and started calling again.

* * *

He sent a bunch of letters to Lance's mom, all addressed to 'The Real Lance'. They all said the same thing: I miss you, please come back. Lance's mom phoned him a few days later. "Did you and Lance have a fight, Joey?"

"No, no, Mrs Bass. I just thought you might-"

She interrupted him. "I'm not going to be a go-between, honey. You two are grown men now. I will tell you this, though: friendships like yours are damn rare."

"Yeah," Joey said, tiredly.

"Go talk to him, Joey. Right after you get off the phone. I mean it."

"Lance's mom forwarded me some mail," Lancebot told Joey a week later. "Do you want me to keep it for Lance, or-"

Joey shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

* * *

He thought about the kiss a lot - replayed it in his head. One of the things he missed most was being able to touch Lance whenever he wanted.

On his second day, Lancebot had pushed Justin's legs off his lap and elbowed Chris back to his own side of the couch.

"Okay, that's _enough_," he'd said.

He stood up and drew an imaginary circle around himself with his fingers. "This is my personal space. All of you have to respect it."

* * *

"Okay." Melissa crunched on an apple and tossed them each a CD. "Spark Girls," she said with her mouth full. "They're the latest Jive recruits, and from now on, you're their best friends - Lance, you have a crush on Suzie. And all of you _love_ the new album."

"Sweet Mother of God," Joey said when Melissa had left. He had to say it loudly, because Justin was beatboxing to the girls' first single. "Just once, just _once_, I wish she'd come in here and tell us to like good music."

"So Joey," Chris said. He held out his CD like a microphone. "What do you think of the new Sparkly Girls album?"

"Spark Girls," JC said.

"Right."

Joey leaned in. "Yeah, I'm all about flat singing at the moment. Repetition's where the scene is _at_."

"And you, Lance?" Chris leered. "A little bird tells me you have a hard-on for Suzie."

And for a fraction of a second, Joey forgot, turned smiling to hear what Lance would say.

Lancebot smiled easily. "She's great," he said. "And I love the album."

* * *

Some of Joey's favourite times ever were leaning against Lance on their bus, while they watched MTV and drank beer.

"There's a thousand words that I could say," Lance would croon. "But I won't stoop that low." And "_There_ we are. Oh wait, no, that's still Justin. Wait, wait... _There_ we are..."

And Joey would giggle and feel the rumble of Lance's laughter against his skin, and think: this is enough. I can live with this.

* * *

Rosie leaned across the desk. "So hey, what have you guys got in your stereos?"

"Well, uh. I have the Spark Girls in my car," Joey said. "_Great_ album."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I crank it up when I'm in traffic, and-"

"And we met them!" Chris interrupted. "We've uh. We've been hanging around with them - sweet girls."

"And Lance has a crush on Suzie!" Justin crowed.

Rosie laughed. "No way!"

Lancebot ducked his head, smiling. "She's great," he said.

* * *

Joey had been sure someone would notice. But soundchecks went by and concerts, radio interviews, and charity appearances, and nobody said a word.

After a while, Joey started to wonder if maybe the fans actually liked Lancebot more than they'd liked Lance.

On TRL, Lancebot grinned and said "I love women," and the audience erupted into cheers.

On another show, the presenter told Lancebot he looked fantastic before they'd even settled into their chairs. "Been working out?" she said.

"Uh. A little, yes." Lancebot nodded through the audience's screams.

He'd started to look less like Lance - rougher or something. He didn't shave as often, and his arms seemed more defined.

'Marry me, Lance', said one of the signs. 'Suddenly hot', said another. It had a blown-up photograph of Lance's ass. Joey wondered how far he was gone if he recognised Lance just from his ass.

"And Joey. Are you enjoying the tour?"

Joey smiled automatically. No, he thought. "Yes," he said.

That night, he watched the show, feeling weirdly dislocated. The Joey on the screen smiled and laughed and flirted with the presenter. He high-fived Justin, and said things like "I never get tired of touring," and "If you've got it, flaunt it, baby," to a girl with big breasts. He seemed no more Joey than Lancebot was Lance.

* * *

"I hear you're a ladies' man, Joey," said another presenter in Washington.

Joey looked at her with dislike; her tone had been a little flirty, a little contemptuous, and a little nudge, wink. _I_ know you like boys, it said.

I like boys, Joey thought to himself. He tried it out inside his mouth. I like boys. The pure possibility of saying it loomed large. He could say it. He could say it, he could knock that expression right off her face.

Justin shifted beside him. He was smiling his not-another-interview smile, which meant he was bored and tired and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Further along, Chris looked like he wanted to scream, but he was confining it to tapping his foot against the leg of Justin's chair.

"I-" Joey felt a trickle of sweat slip down his side, and more sweat prickle on his forehead. He squeezed his hands to remind himself not to wipe his face - the makeup people would kill him. Justin looked at him, and his smile went real for a second. Joey forced himself to smile back. He could say it. He could.

He took a breath. "I- I love women," he said. "What can I say?"

The audience's cheers sounded tinny - like a recording of a recording.

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Joey ripped off his microphone and ran to the bathroom. He threw up for what felt like an hour. He was real, he told himself. He was real, he was real, he was real, he was _real_.

Someone rattled the door. "Joey?" It was Chris. He sounded anxious.

"Fine," Joey wanted to say. "I'm fine." But all that came out was "Lance. I want Lance."

"I know," Chris said, gently. "Joey, open the door."

Joey wiped his mouth. He took a shuddering breath. He wiped his forehead with his other hand. He opened the door.

"Hey," Chris said. He was back to his non-interview self - shifting from one foot to the other, restlessly, almost jogging in place. He smiled and rubbed Joey's arms. "You okay?"

Joey shook his head. "I want Lance," he said.

"Yeah." Chris pulled him into a hug. "I miss him too."

* * *

Chris took him out and got him very, very drunk. When Joey finally stumbled back onto the bus, it was 4am. Lancebot was still up. He was plugged into his recharger, reading something fat with small print.

Joey pulled it out of his hands.

"Hey!" Lancebot said.

Joey touched Lancebot's face. It felt just like real skin. "For someone who isn't Lance," he said. "You're a pretty hot guy."

"Robot," Lancebot said.

"Whatever."

Lancebot sighed. "Joey," he said. "Can I have my book back?"

Joey shook his head. "You feel real," he said. He pressed his hand to Lancebot's chest where his heart would have been if he'd had a heart. "Do you feel real?"

"Well." Lancebot shifted uncomfortably. "It's not really something I think about."

"Oh," Joey said.

"I think it's more of a human thing."

"Yeah?" said Joey, hopefully.

"Sure. That's why human teenagers get stoned and wonder if the green they see is the same green everybody else sees. But they get over it. They read Sartre, Camus, get bored, and get over it."

Joey stared at him. He could have been speaking Russian for all the sense he was making. Lance would never have said that. And Lancebot wasn't Lance, but he looked like Lance, and he smelled like Lance.

Joey surged forward and kissed him awkwardly.

"Joey." Lancebot grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away a little. "Joey, you're drunk."

"I don't care, I don't care," Joey said, insistently.

"Joey, I like girls."

"You like girls?" Joey said, shocked. "But. But Lance doesn't like girls."

Lancebot sighed. "I'm not Lance. Lance is on vacation," he said, sounding tired. He frowned suddenly. "Hey, all that stuff about being real. Are you having an existential crisis?"

"What?" Joey blinked at him. He wasn't sure that would have made sense, even if he were sober.

"Because you have to tell me if you are. There are warnings on the box about it."

"You came in a box?" Joey asked, distracted.

Lancebot waved his hand. "That's irrelevant."

Joey shook his head. The room was wobbling a bit. "Um. I don't know."

"Hmm." Lancebot said. He sounded suspicious.

* * *

Joey crawled out of his bunk the next day, and found Lancebot on the couch, staring out of the window. He slumped down next to him. "Um, about the-"

"The crisis?" Lancebot sounded nervous, and Joey wondered if it were because he really felt nervous, or if he'd been programmed to sound nervous in gay situations. Was this a gay situation?

"The kiss," he mumbled.

"_Oh_, oh." Lancebot looked weirdly relieved. "Hey. You were drunk - people do crazy things when they're drunk."

"Okay."

"Forgotten already. Never happened."

Joey covered his face. His head hurt. "Okay."

* * *

Joey avoided Lancebot a little after that, and - watching Lancebot step around him carefully at the breakfast table and disappearing when Joey came to rehearsal - he had a feeling Lancebot might be avoiding him too.

They were in a band though, so spending time together was sometimes unavoidable.

In Chicago, they had to open a club owned by Leo or Sly or someone important.

"Okay," said Monica. "You have a choice." She held up two suits. "Black with silver trim or white with mauve."

Joey looked from one to the other. "Can't I just wear a sweater and jeans or something?"

Monica smiled tightly. "Don't do this to me, baby." She switched the suits around. "White with mauve, black with silver," she said enticingly.

"I have some nice sweaters."

"Honey. Honey, honey-" Joey could almost hear her grinding her teeth. "Everyone's waiting."

"Black," Joey said, feeling like he was five years old.

"Ha! You went with the black too," Chris said, when Joey came downstairs. He did a quick spin. "Spill-proof, baby."

Lancebot smiled mildly. Joey saw he'd gone with the white.

* * *

"So I was thinking of buying a new car," Joey told Justin on the way to an early morning radio appearance.

"Yeah? Cool." Justin sipped his coffee. "We could like go driving together after the tour - do a roadtrip or something."

"One of those new Porsches with the-"

"Oh hey, hey," Justin looked puzzled. "No, man. BMWs for five years. Remember? We signed with them in January?"

* * *

"Um," JC said in a rehearsal break. "I haven't been spending much time with you lately, huh?"

"Oh hey, it's-" Joey shrugged. "It's okay, it's been a weird couple of months."

"Yeah." JC stared at his shoes. "So um. So okay I don't know how to say this. But Lancebot told me you kissed him."

"Jesus!" Joey looked around quickly to check that no one had heard. "He _told_ you that?"

JC's face was pink. "Uh, yeah. Lance had him programmed to confide in me if he couldn't process anything."

"Oh," Joey said. He remembered the first time he'd met JC. Joey been shooting hoops with Steve in their driveway, and JC had wandered over from across the street. JC had been older than both of them, but he'd seemed younger - a dorky kid with a sweet smile and the ugliest haircut Joey had every seen.

"I'm worried about you," JC said quietly. "We're all worried about you."

Joey gulped his drink, embarrassed. "You don't need to be," he mumbled.

"But we are. You miss him. It's okay to miss him."

"That's not why!" Joey said. He saw the bodyguards turning to look at them, and lowered his voice. "That's not why... the kiss... It's not like that."

JC fiddled with his water bottle. "Okay."

"It isn't," Joey insisted.

"Okay, Joey," JC said again. He looked tired.

JC went back to the dance floor after that. Joey watched him in the mirror. He seemed smoother, more elegant than the kid Joey had met playing hoops; it was hard to believe they were the same person. Joey wrapped his hands around his glass. He'd know if JC wasn't JC, he told himself. He would.

* * *

He found himself watching them all more closely, though.

Justin was so beautiful that he sometimes made Joey's heart ache - not in a sexy way, Joey told himself hastily - more like when he looked at a beautiful painting or sculpture. He was good at everything, too - sports, singing, song writing, math.

* * *

Chris bought Joey a fruit basket out of the blue. "Pink Lady apples are in season," he said before Joey could say anything. He grabbed one for himself and bit into it.

"You're not a bot, are you?" Joey asked abruptly. Lancebot was always bringing him vegetables and telling him to eat better. Joey thought it was easy enough for him to say - Lancebot didn't have to eat at all if he didn't want to.

Chris frowned at him. "No, you paranoid fucker. I'm worried about you. You've been moping about Lance so, hey - one fruit for another-" He winced as Joey smacked him. "Ow. Jeez, Joey."

"It wasn't funny," Joey said, rubbing his hand. Chris's arm was like steel.

* * *

Chris and JC maybe talked to Justin, because Justin dragged him to a club to "cheer you up, or at least get you wasted".

When they got there, the room was full of people so beautiful it was hard to believe they were real. Joey stared at them: poised and attractive and laughing at jokes Joey didn't find funny at all.

"Love your shirt, sweetie," said a woman he'd never met. She kissed his cheek. "D&amp;G? Lacroix?" She had perfect cheekbones, perfect makeup.

"Um- I don't-" He started, but she'd already turned away.

Someone else clasped his shoulder. Joey didn't recognise him, but his teeth and smile were like every other person's in the room, so he still seemed strangely familiar. "Great record, Joey. Wonderful record."

Joey watched him weave his way through the crowd, patting people on the back. "Love your record, wonderful record," Joey heard faintly.

Either of them could have been a bot, Joey thought. Maybe they were both bots. Maybe everyone in this room was a robot, and their real selves were on vacation.

He watched Justin slap people on the back and laugh - Justin blended into this crowd like he belonged, like he was made for it. Joey was the only one who didn't. He shuddered. He felt like he was in the eye of a storm: stationary while the whole world blurred around him.

"Is this our life?" he said. "Is this really our life?"

Justin put his arm around him for a photograph. "Surreal sometimes, huh," he answered, grinning widely for the camera.

* * *

Joey had promised himself he wouldn't try to kiss Lancebot again - he still felt sick with humiliation whenever he thought about it. But the next time he got drunk, he found himself with his face buried in Lancebot's neck.

"Lance," he mumbled. "Lance."

"Joey." Lancebot wriggled out of his grip. "I'm not-"

"I know, I know," Joey interrupted. "You're not Lance. But-" He swallowed nervously. "But maybe you could- I thought maybe you could pretend. We could both pretend. Just for a while. Just-" He reached out to touch Lancebot's mouth. "Just for a little while."

"_Joey_." Lancebot grabbed his hand and pulled it away. "I'm not like that."

"But I thought-."

"I've been _programmed_. I'm not like that, and I can't be anything I'm not."

"Why not?" Joey said. He felt like he was going to cry. "Why not? Lance pretends. Lance pretends all the time."

"Of course he does." Lancebot sounded confused. "He's human."

* * *

Would one robot recognise another, Joey wondered. Would the robots even know if all the real people had been pied-pipered away? He looked down at his hands. It was surprisingly easy to picture his real self somewhere on a beach with Lance.

He frowned and looked at his hands closer, felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. The nail on his index finger had been black the day he met JC, he remembered suddenly. He'd caught the ball wrong the week before. He stared at his hands now. His father would have said they were the hands of someone who'd never worked a day in his life; they were clean, and the nails were smooth and perfectly round. They didn't seem like his own hands at all.

"Am I a robot?" he asked when the others arrived for breakfast.

"No baby, you don't dance well enough," Chris said. He was sort of smiling, but his eyes had narrowed.

Joey's heart thudded. "Is it something we're not supposed to talk about?" he asked. "Am I defective if I know I'm fake?"

"Joey," Chris said. He took a few steps towards Joey slowly, like he knew Joey was defective. "Joey, calm down."

"Am I a defective robot?"

"No, of course not." Justin's frown was identical to Lancebot's. Joey jerked back from him.

"Because I think I am," he admitted. He might as well get it over with. "I think I'm defective. I like boys. I like Lance."

"Okay," JC said, soothingly. "Okay, good for you, Joey."

"It's true, isn't it?" Joey said. He sucked in a panicked breath. "It's true!"

"Joey, you have to calm down." Now Justin was coming towards him too.

Joey backed away from him. "You're all replacements, and I am too!"

"Aren't there warnings on the box about this kind of thing?" Chris said to Lancebot.

"I came in a box! And you did too! You- all of you-"

"Fuck!" Chris said.

And Joey looked back just in time to meet Chris's fist.

* * *

There were crappy souvenirs on the bedside table when Joey woke up - figurines made of shells and a t-shirt saying 'I escaped the Bermuda Triangle'.

Lance was sitting on the edge of the bed. Joey was fairly sure it was Lance - his face was blotchy like he hadn't slept in a while, and his hair needed a wash. Joey had imagined that when Lance came back, he would look sleek and rested, but he mostly just looked tired.

"Hey," Lance said awkwardly when he saw Joey was awake. "So um. So I'm back."

Joey shifted and winced. "How long ago?"

"A couple of hours." Lance touched Joey's cheek lightly where Chris had hit him. "I heard you went a bit nuts."

"They told you." Joey closed his eyes. His head ached - unrelenting and impossible to ignore, like a voice jeering that he was real, that there was no more plastic to hide behind. It was, he thought, like waking up with a hangover and knowing you'd behaved like a fucking idiot the night before.

"They kind of had to," Lance said. "It was part of the conditions on the box."

"Oh."

"Chris was pretty freaked."

"Yeah." Joey swallowed. "Yeah, me too."

"So," Lance said, and something in his voice made Joey open his eyes. "So," Lance said again. He wasn't looking at Joey at all; he was staring at the bedspread, tracing the line of the seam, and his hand was shaking. "You like boys. You like me."

"You knew that," Joey pointed out.

Lance looked up at him. "I never heard you say it."

Joey nodded, because that was fair enough. That was fair. And Lance's hand was shaking and it somehow made it easier - knowing that Lance was scared too. He swallowed. "I um. I like you."

Lance looked concerned. "That's pretty defective, Joey."

Joey grinned at him wanly. "Fuck you."

Lance smiled then - the sly smile that was just Joey's. "You know I like you too, right?"

Joey grinned wider and leaned in to kiss him. As kisses went, it wasn't perfect: Joey's head still hurt, and Lance's lips were a little chapped. And they were interrupted in the middle of it by the phone.

It was a Boston radio interview - Joey had completely forgotten about it.

"I love touring," he told the DJ as Lance sighed and flopped onto his stomach next to him. Joey raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a much more intimate tour this time."

Lance snorted and poked him with his foot.

Joey nodded and murmured answers, watching Lance help himself to an apple from Joey's fruit basket. He bit into it and a trickle of juice ran down his wrist. Joey wanted to lick it off.

"Yeah, the Spark Girls CD." Joey said. "It's really-"

Lance made a face and pretended to stick his finger down his throat.

Joey started laughing. "It's great," he said. "I really love it."

* * *

_The Electric Monk was a labour-saving device, like a dishwasher or a video recorder. Dishwashers washed tedious dishes for you, thus saving you the bother of washing them yourself, video recorders watched tedious television for you, thus saving you the bother of looking at it yourself; Electric Monks believed things for you, thus saving you what was becoming an increasingly onerous task, that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe._

 

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

 

\-- Douglas Adams

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lance Knows a Guy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/204646) by [linbot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linbot/pseuds/linbot)




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